


The Hardest Part

by Anonymous



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: DarkHawk, Dom!Ross, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Sub!Jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 14:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15775650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: They’ve barely had time for games lately; and all work and no play makes Ross a bad, bad boy.





	The Hardest Part

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My_Trex_has_fleas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Trex_has_fleas/gifts).



> This is a gift for My_Trex_Has_Fleas! Thank you so much for all your gorgeous writing. 
> 
> I hope this floats your boat!

The rice, Jim thinks, is a nice touch.

He’s used to kneeling. Oh god, how many hours must he have spent on his knees in this room? He remembers the first time, how much he’d thought it had hurt even before they’d really gotten started.

His knees were bruised for days, but of course that doesn’t happen now. Skin grows tougher, thicker, and the joints became accustomed to what Jim has learned to crave.

He’d had to tell his clients he’d fallen down the stairs, though. Damaged skin, so awkwardly visible in his shorts.

And how he’d made sure Ross had paid for that. He’d smile at the memory but it’s not allowed, and he’s in no mood to break the rules.

Yet.

But this time - he has to agree - Ross has outdone himself. This is nothing like the diffuse, fiery ache that usually accompanies their fun. The tidy white circle of dry grain on the bare wood had amused Jim at first. He’d settled himself onto it with all his usual dramatics, rolling his eyes as he makes sure his feet are just the right distance apart.

No need for the chalk marks on the floor to tell him where they ought to be these days.

Oh, yes. The rice is a very nice touch indeed.

 

* * *

Jim is sweating.

It drips into his eyes, prickling furiously and making him want to writhe to get rid of it. He won’t use his hands – he’s not that stupid, but every time he moves the sharp grains dig and dig and dig and he finds himself even more unsteady ,which only makes it worse.

An endless cycle.

Exquisitely painful.

It’s delightful, if he’s honest. The way Ross has paid such particular attention to his situation. It’s taken a depth of consideration that flatters Jim.

Sweet Ross. Always thinking of him.

It wouldn’t be quite so bad, but he knows Ross has left him even longer than usual. It’s possible that ross has been held up, but Jim would put good money on the fact that he’s making him wait. There are no shadows to mark the passing of time. The room doesn’t have any windows and either way, it’s already night; but Jim has done this enough times to know that Ross must be feeling particularly playful this evening to have held out so long.

After all.

They’ve barely had time for games lately; and all work and no play makes Ross a bad, bad boy.

Jim glances down, giving his head the gentlest of shakes to flick some of the gathering perspiration onto the floor. He’s supposed to stay still but this is as much a treat as a punishment, and Ross won’t begrudge him being able to see clearly when he finally decides that Jim has had enough.

He tuts when he notices the wayward rice wedged in the cracks between the boards.

No skin off his nose, though. He won’t be fucking well getting it out.

That will fall to Ross, if he knows what’s good for him.

Jim’s heart speeds up before the door even opens. He’s learned to anticipate him, like part of Ross occupies him even when they aren’t together. He feels the way the beat picks up against his ribs. Faster and faster, even though he tells himself to relax.

By the time the feet appear in front of him, those shoes – and Jim wants to laugh out loud now, because they’ve been polished to within an inch of their life after all. As if Ross would have left them scuffed, on a night like tonight. He wonders how Ross has explained away Jim’s absence, but it’s of no consequence.

He’s home now.

Jim feels almost faint with exertion and the thrill of the beginning.

The footsteps come in a flurry, the chair scraping loud and jarring on the floor until Ross sits in front of him, Jim with his head bowed between Ross’s spread knees. He won’t look up – not just yet – but from what he can see Ross is dark and furious and it makes Jim harder still. How he can keep it up like this for hours amazes him, sometimes – given how fast he knows he’s going to blow when Ross gives him permission.

“You know why you’re here?”

Jim smirks. Or he would, but he’s trained his mouth not to give him away.

“I do.”

“I got your note,” Ross takes his time with the last word, letting it roll around his tongue. “Insolent. Arrogant. Fucking embarrassing. As you can see,” Ross murmurs, and his jacket hits the floor next to Jim’s right leg, “I’ve had to clean them myself.” He taps the shoes on the floor, a quick one-two to emphasise his point, Jim’s reflection staring back at him in the perfect shining surface.

“And a lovely job you’ve done of it.”

Jim’s reply is punctuated by the clink of cufflinks, the muffled thud of Ross’s shirt landing on Jim’s right. He wonders if there will be a slap, but Ross’s hands remain still for now.

Ross’s hands – he can see them. Long fingers, so much stronger than they look like they should be. Hands that in minutes will be twisting and taking and tearing their path into Jim’s skin, if Jim gives him reason enough to.

Hands that hold their delicate game in their balance, half in Ross’s, half in Jim’s own.

Hands that will feed him toast in the morning, because Jim is sure as hell going to make him pay for this one.  
  
Ross’s hands stroke down his own thighs, coming to rest on the sharp peaks of his knees. The fabric even sounds expensive, and Jim is itching to rest his face against it. If he could just raise his eyes, he knows, he’d see Ross hard too. He could so easily dive forward and mouth him through the material, have him off faster than Ross could protest. He listens more attentively, hoping to hear the slow sound of Ross’s fly being opened, feeling his mouth fill with saliva just at the thought of Ross’s cock—

But Jim hasn’t earned it yet.

“Continue the backchat, and I will leave you here until I see fit. Understood?”

“Yes, Ross,” Jim says.

“How long?” Ross asks, and Jim is sure now, sure he can hear the way his mouth twists into a smile. He knows it’ll be soft, with melting black eyes to match, because Ross is never cruel.

He’s tried, because Jim has asked; but this is enough. Being with Ross has always been enough.

More. Fuck. So much more than that.

How long would he wait for Ross?

“Forever,” he says without hesitation, and Ross stands up now, letting the tips of his fingers just brush against Jim’s hair.

“Good.”

“Always.”

“I should fucking hope so.” Ross slides his right foot between Jim’s trembling thighs. “Here’s what is going to happen. In a moment, I’m going to give you permission to come, and that’s exactly what you’re going to do. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Ross.”

“And then, then, James; you’re going to clean this fucking shoe until I’m satisfied. Got it?”

“Y—yes, Ross.” Jim can barely contain himself now. He keeps his eyes fixed to the floor, but they might as well be rolled right back in his head. Jim’s voice sounds weak and shaky but to his credit, Ross lets it slide.

“Well then, beautiful.” Ross breathes out, long and slow, and Jim imagines his lip, crushed between teeth that Jim loves to lick against.

“Come,” he breathes.

And Jim does. No hands — he’s taught himself not to need that. Hours of anticipation spill hard onto Ross’s foot, and Jim’s body jerks with the sheer force of it while Ross’s fingers grip hard into his hair and pull just so—

“And now,” Ross murmurs, and Jim gives himself a mental pat on the back to hear that Ross sounds just as worked up as he feels, “Let’s see if you’ve learned your lesson.”

The foot lands on the chair, expectant. Jim watches the pearl-white trails snaking their way over the vamp, cooling and drooling on the wood below. He makes a show of it, just the way he knows Ross would want; all tongue and groaning, though it’s hardly a difficult production.

Jim wants. He tastes himself, salt-bitter and sharp polish; and the perfection of possession.

When Ross rewards him with his hand – that gorgeous hand cupped hard around his jaw, pressed against his burning, pink cheek – Jim can’t help his mouth mawing at the skin, trailing in hope of a taste of that too; but Ross pulls away, pulls himself together, pulls Jim’s hair back hard enough so they can finally—

Finally, Jim thinks, yes. At last, they’re looking at each other.

The hardest part is always looking away.

“Now then, my love,” Ross says, and he catches the last shining drop still clinging to Jim’s lip with his thumb, pressing it into his mouth with a sigh. His Ross, all caught in the light, merciless and merciful with the power Jim has given him. “If you’re quite ready. Then we should begin.”

 


End file.
